


And The Women Shall Lead

by LadyFangs



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Platonic Female/Female Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 21:08:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11540472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyFangs/pseuds/LadyFangs
Summary: They are both tired. Tired of loving Ragnar Lothbrok. Tired of supporting him. He would be nothing without them, and yet they have  both suffered his insults, his abuses. He has finally crossed a line, and this time, they will not stand for it.Explores what could have happened had Aslaug told Lagertha that Ragnar hit her.





	And The Women Shall Lead

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Clouded Sight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11520117) by [Lauredessine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauredessine/pseuds/Lauredessine). 



The Gods Always Smile On Strong Women.

She is sitting alone in the great hall, trying to come to terms with what has just happened. The side of her face still burns, yet she cannot figure out which pain is worse—the physical, or the emotional. He had slapped her so hard that she knew, she had felt, that he would kill her in that moment. And he was very much capable of doing so. Yet fear was not her reaction.

Aslaug did not know she could hate a person so much. But she does. She HATES her husband.

Theirs has never been a relationship built on love. It was constructed by the fates, and she has known that he has long been dissatisfied with it. Maybe he loved her…once. But he has never really shown it. And sex only hides so much. She knows he blames her for his ex-wife leaving him, a blame misplaced really, because it was he who had kissed her under the great tree. And it was he who had made the choice that guided them. Did he really believe she would stay behind as a mother of a fatherless child?

She had come to him to hold him accountable, because she is not nor has she ever been the type of woman who just hides away. She is a princess, a noblewoman, and under the laws of their people she was entitled to support. They created this child together. She would not be left to care for it alone.

He never really tried. Yes, he married her, but there was no ceremony and she never received a ring. It was witnessed by the village elder and no one else, and it was done only so that he could save face—for a woman to divorce a man was the most public of humiliations, and he could not stand that a woman, his former wife—had done exactly that.

Their household staff has been replaced times over because her husband kept fucking the servants. She tolerated it, until she couldn’t. Until he decided to flirt with a young girl right in front of her face, and then lie to her afterwards, as if she were stupid. Aslaug is many things. Stupid has never been one of them.

The villagers have only just tolerated her presence, and in the beginning, they still sung the praises of Lagertha…Lagertha…always Lagertha. It was not meant to be cruel. It merely…was. A princess did not impress them. There was nothing she could have done to replace Lagertha in their hearts. And so she never tried to. She had only ever tried to carve her own path, and create a place for herself.

She had watched Lagertha pack her things, her face set, her hands steady. Ragnar’s then-wife went about her task resolutely, and as Aslaug watched she wondered then what she would have done if she were in Lagertha’s place. Their next meeting was far different. Lagertha had come to save them when Ragnar could not. Lagertha had comforted their kids in the face of danger. But she had also done far more. She had the courage to leave Ragnar again, when he begged her to stay. Aslaug was present when Lagertha came into the great hall and rejected him publically yet again. And she saw how it had hurt him, though he tried to act as if it did not matter at all.

It had gone unspoken then, but she knew Lagertha understood what she meant when she said ‘thank you’. She had thanked Lagertha not only for saving them, but for not taking Ragnar away, because at the time and despite his failings, Aslaug still loved her husband. And he was her only anchor to this world.

She had tried, for years, to maintain a relationship with him. Ragnar merely…existed. When Lagertha returned as an Earl Aslaug had smiled, impressed, while Ragnar had sulked, attempting to disguise his disappointment with apathy. But by that time, she knew him too well—Lagertha as Earl put a damper on his hopes for reconciliation. A damper…but it did not extinguish them completely.  But by then, she and Lagertha had reached an understanding, not necessarily a friendship—but a place of mutual respect.

 As they watched the sea roil, awaiting what fate would bring, they had spoken of this. And Aslaug had told her the truth. She told Lagertha that Ragnar still loved her, and that she understood as well that he needed her. She told Lagertha that she admired her, wished sometimes, that she could _be_ her, be as strong. And Lagertha had told her things as well. That at first, she had been more jealous than hurt by Ragnar’s treachery. But that, as time passed, she had come to realize that hers was a different calling. She had told Aslaug she was never comfortable as a wife—and that she had always yearned to be an un-bonded, free woman again. Ragnar’s adultery was her blessing, because now she could do as she always wanted. “You are strong for leaving him,” Aslaug told her. “And you are strong for staying.” Lagertha had replied.

They had laughed that night on the beach, comparing their notes on Ragnar Lothbrok. And it was she who had suggested they test him to see just how far he was willing to go for the both of them. It had been a fun experience to screw him senseless. If Ragnar was good for anything, it was sex. He was terrible at everything else.

In the morning they had laughed and hugged. And Lagertha helped Ragnar become a king. Their beachside conversation had fortified Aslaug. And she had needed that, because when Ragnar finally told her the truth--that he did not love her — it was not a revelation, but a confirmation. And it had freed her to pursue her own happiness, and to take a lover of her own.  She refused to stay relegated to the vessel for Ragnar Lothbrok’s sperm.

Harbard gave her love. And admiration. He gave her both a physical and a spiritual pleasure—filling in the holes that Ragnar had left. Her only regret is that Siggy had to die for it. They had fought bitterly upon his return—he had cursed her, tried to insult her in front of their sons, and to demean her. But his words meant nothing, because he had done the exact same, and worse. She would not apologize for loving another man, when he had done the same. As far as she was concerned, it made them even. Though Ragnar would never acknowledge it—they were equals. And she refused to be treated as anything but.

She confessed her dalliance to Lagertha, and the two women talked about it a long while. “He is angry with me,” she told her.  “He is angry with me too,” Lagertha had said. Aslaug had inquired why, and Lagertha had smiled. “Because I slept with a king that wasn’t him. And he is trying to punish me for it.”

Indeed, Ragnar had tried to punish both of them, but it had not worked. He may have finally gotten Lagertha to stay in Kattegat, but she never did come back to his bed. And Aslaug wouldn’t be shamed. Theirs was a marriage in name only. She had given up on having a husband a long time ago. While Ragnar was busy raiding she was busy raising their sons to be better than their father. And for her children alone, is why she has stayed with a man emotionally and now physically abusive.

Aslaug has born Ragnar’s many insults with dignity, and grace. But she will not bear this one in silence. And she knows to whom she must turn.

“My lady.”

The soft voice interrupts her thoughts. She had not heard her servant come in.

“I need you to send a message to Hedeby.”

She tells the servant exactly what to say.

.

.

When word reaches her, Lagertha is beyond angry. She is so angry her hands shake and she has to still them by gripping her chair. Her ex-husband has been many things. And now he can add another to the list—abuser.

It is an insult to her as a woman. It is a disgrace to all women, everywhere. And there is no way this will go unanswered.

She goes quickly to her rooms to change out of her gown into warriors clothes.

When her attendants ask where she is going, she says only that she will return in one week. This will be a very short trip. It will be an even shorter conversation with her ex-husband.

.

.

Aslaug has not spoken a word to him in weeks. He will not apologize to her. She is not entitled to one. It has however, meant that he wakes alone, eats alone and goes to sleep alone. It means that as of now, Ragnar Lothbrok has no one. Athelstan, his beloved friend, is dead. Floki, a trusted friend, is in chains. Rollo is betraying him again at the moment, and his son, Bjorn, has abandoned him for the winter, and what, he feels, is likely forever.

When a white horse appears in the distance, he stands and blinks a moment, not trusting his sight. Yet, as it draws closer, and she comes into view, he knows that he is not imagining things. Lagertha has arrived. He goes into his hall to prepare himself, washing his face with water, and straightening his clothes. He has not seen her since they returned from Paris, and it is a relief to see a familiar face right now.

Ragnar is waiting on his porch as she draws up and dismounts, tying her horse to the pole. She walks up the stairs and comes to face him and he knows immediately, but the look of contempt and disgust written plainly in her beautiful face, that this visit is not one that will be pleasurable.

“We must speak, ex-husband.”

She does not call him king. She does not even call him by his name.

He extends an arm for her to go inside and checks to ensure there is no one here, and that they are, alone.

“What brings you to Kattegat?”

 The question is met by a slap to the side of his face so hard it makes his head jerk to the left. He blinks a few times, feeling the sting.

“What is this?!”

 The second slap sends his face hard to the right.

“So you beat women now, yes? Why don’t you try to beat on _me_?” It is a direct threat, and he knows that somehow, Lagertha has found out him hitting Aslaug.

She has no weapons, but he already knows she does not need them. They have fought before, and he is acutely aware of Lagertha’s skill at hand-to-hand combat. He backs up, prepared to defend. And she comes at him in a fury of fists, and legs—each blow harder and more painful than the last. She beats him until he’s on the ground and spitting blood.

“Get up!” She hovers over him glowering, her eyes bright with fury.

“Get up you coward!”

He can’t. His body still is not healed from Paris, and she has inflicted even more damage on him. He tries to answer but it only makes him wheeze, and cough. More blood.

“You disgust me. You disgrace me. I am ashamed to have ever been married to you!”

He has not felt remorse for his actions…but he does now at the words that come from her mouth.

“I LOVED you, Ragnar Lothbrok. I fought for you. I stood by you, and I NEVER betrayed you. But you have, and continue, to disappoint me. I am ashamed to call you my friend, ashamed to call you my lover and ashamed to have _ever_ called you my husband. You are no better than Sigvard, no better than Ecbert. No better than Kalf. You are NOT a man, and you are _unworthy_ of being king.”

She spits on him and leaves him lying on the floor hurting…both from the physical pain…and from the emotional blows she’s rained down on his heart.

.

.

Aslaug is in the market when news of Lagertha’s arrival reaches her. By the time she makes it back to the great hall, Lagertha is already walking away with her horse.

“I just heard you arrived…are you…departing?”

Lagertha nods. “I have more work to do in Hedeby before the spring. But Ragnar will not lay another hand on you. I am…sorry that he did that.”

Aslaug bows her head. “I should have been stronger. I should not have asked you to come. I know how you feel about him.” And she does. She knows Lagertha still loves Ragnar. It is not a romantic love, but it is love still the same.

“I do not know that person,” Lagertha says, glancing at the hall. “My Ragnar died when our farm burned. And your Ragnar…disgusts me. I am grieved you have had to put up with that. I almost wish,” she stops herself from speaking on it more.

“Wish what, Lagertha?” They look at each other.

“I almost wish you would divorce him. It is the only thing he has ever understood.”

Lagertha gets on her horse and prepares to ride away, but Aslaug places a hand on her leg, stopping her.

“Could you please stay a bit longer?”

They look at each other, and Lagertha nods. “I will be at Bjorn’s house, up the mountain.” Bjorn’s house…Lagertha’s childhood home.

When Aslaug enters the great hall, there is no sign of Ragnar. But she does see the blood on the floor.

.

.

Both Ragnar and Aslaug arrive separately that night. Ragnar comes first.

In the firelight, she gets a good look at her handiwork. One eye is quickly darkening. There is a cut on his cheek, and his lip is beginning to swell. He is walking with a limp, and she thinks he deserves so much more.

Lagertha has changed out of her armor and into a dress. He comes to sit on a chair in front of the fire, and she does not offer him any sort of consolation. If he wishes to speak, he will have to say the first words.

“I am tired.”

She snorts.

It excuses nothing.

“Will you raid with us in the spring?”

“At least one of the Earls of Hedeby is planning on it.” Lagertha’s eyes bore into Ragnar’s. A reminder of all the damage he has done.  Her lands still are not completely hers yet.

“I am sorry about that.”

“You are sorry for a lot of things. You are sorry in general. A sorry excuse for a husband. A sorry excuse for a man.”

“I was angry…”

 “And you have been angry with me too! But you have NEVER struck me. You NEVER would.  I do not care what Aslaug said to you. I do not care what led up to it. YOU KNOW BETTER.”

He hangs his head in shame. Her words are truth. Ragnar has never struck a woman. He has always defended them. He has always loved them. And he has always considered a man who hits a woman as the vilest of offenders. He has punished men harshly for beating their women—free, servant or slave—it does not matter. Ragnar’s justice has been swift—a beating in the public square.

“I miss our farm,” he says.

She doesn’t respond to it. Their farm burned.

.

.

“What will you do?”

They are drinking tea in front of the fire. Aslaug has left Ragnar with his sons, forcing him to explain to them his black eye and bloodied lip. She wonders what story he has made up to save face in front of the children. Whatever it is, she knows it is not the truth.

 “I plan to go to Paris in the spring,” Lagertha says, raising her cup. “And I plan to fight alongside Ragnar. Hedeby will be solely mine again, by that time.”

“You would still fight for him?” Aslaug looks at Lagertha incredulously.

“Not FOR him, with him. There is a very big difference.”

“And what will you do afterwards?”

Lagertha leans in.  “I believe it is time the women lead. My Ragnar is dead. Your Ragnar is dying.”

.

.

Her words are evident when the reach the shores of Frankia.

Ragnar is clearly unwell. She sees it in the way he tries to get close to her, to wrap his arms around her body, to try and woo her back by speaking of her baby.

He did not care enough when she lost their son. He had not been there. It is an insult to Lagertha that he is trying to claim another child that is not even his. She reached her decision long before, and no amount of tender touch or kind gesture will change what she knows she will eventually have to do.

The only thing that has stayed her hand so far is her heart.

It is why, when both Bjorn and his father came to her tent after the loss of the baby, she cries. Not for the child, but because having them both there reminded her of simpler times, of a life they could have all had. She cries into Ragnar’s arms remembering when those same arms would hold her at night. But it is so bitter. Sweet memories ruined by abuses and betrayals.

She cries because despite everything he has put their families through, she still loves Ragnar, and she will always love Ragnar. She has always loved him even when she hated him.

Their defeat in Paris only strengthened her resolve. She and Aslaug have spoken about this. But they did not know the time, nor the place—only that it would happen eventually.

Just as Ragnar deposed King Horik because he was not fit to lead, Lagertha will be the one to depose the man she helped take Horik’s place.

And it comes the day they arrive in Kattegat.

The people have come to see them. But this return is not triumphant. They have been defeated, and in their culture, someone must always be held accountable for defeat.

Ragnar returns angry, defiant. The faces of his people accusing as they surround him on the shore. And yet—even has he rages against them, yells at them, challenges them—none will step forward.

“Who wants to be king?!” He desperately wants to be freed from the burden of failure. But his challenge is met by silence. He is prepared to ask it again, when a familiar voice responds.

“I want to be king.”

He turns around quickly to see his ex-wife, sword drawn, staring at him.

“Mother, what are you doing?” Bjorn has come up but she pushes him away, never breaking eye contact from his father.

“Your father wants to die. I will send him to Valhalla,” she says, loudly enough for everyone to hear. Aslaug is standing near, Ivar in her arms, the rest of the boys by her side.

“So you wish to make it three husbands, then,” Ragnar sneers at Lagertha, an ugly smile twisting his face.

“Draw your sword KING Ragnar.”

He does. The crowd backs up to give them room, and to get out of the path of fire.

Kattegat’s first daughter, and its first son. A mother and a father. A former husband and a former wife. Ex-friends. Ex-lovers.

They are not gentle with each other.

They rage as the fiercest of warriors. The worst of enemies.

They strike with years of simmering anger, hurt and frustration.

They battle fueled by tortured love and betrayal.

But yet, as she sinks her sword into Ragnar’s chest…it is Lagertha’s tears that fall first as she follows him to the ground, and holds him in her arms as he dies.

He reaches a bloody hand to touch her face.

“I have always loved you,” he rasps… “And I have finally brought you home.”

There is silence.

Bjorn approaches her slowly and comes to kneel beside her as she takes her fingers and closes Ragnar’s eyes, placing one last kiss on his lips.

“He left me no choice,” she tells her son, as he rubs her back.

“I know.” Bjorn beckons to his brothers who approach slowly. Aslaug carries Ivar as well, and they too, kneel to grieve over their father.

 Lagertha stands to allow them space, and she turns to face Aslaug.

“All hail Queen Lagertha!” Aslaug calls. The answer comes swiftly from the crowd.

“All Hail Queen Lagertha!”

“All Hail Queen Lagertha!”

The former wives of Ragnar Lothbrok embrace and cry together. Their husband will have an honorable funeral. And their sons and their people will never be allowed to forget his name.

“The gods have always smiled on strong women,” Aslaug says. Lagertha's response is resolute. “And now it is the women who will lead.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Disclosure: I totally ship Ragnar/Lagertha. But his behavior toward Aslaug is deplorable and unacceptable and that scene made me wish Lagertha would have mercy-killed his ass, as she should have done when they got back from Paris. If she'd known what he did to Aslaug, I think she would have, love be dammed. Ragnar has been both emotionally and physically abusive. 
> 
> This was inspired by the wonderful work "Clouded Sight" by Lauredessine, who got me off my ass to write the story I've been meaning to write for a while but just didn't have the courage to go there.


End file.
